In Every Drop of My Blood
by April29Roses
Summary: Merlin and Arthur are captured by bandits and separated. Injured and chained, Merlin takes dangerous risks to rescue his king. This is a torture story, set immediately after Season Four, told from Merlin's point of view, inspired and framed by a a poem by Ranier Maria Rilke. No slash.
1. Prologue

In Every Drop of My Blood

Prologue

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you,

Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you.

And without feet I can make my way to you,

without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you

with my heart, as with a hand.

Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat.

And if you consume my brain with fire,

I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

Ranier Maria Rilke

The Book of Hours


	2. Chapter 1

In Every Drop of My Blood

Chapter 1

"Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you. Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you." Ranier Maria Rilke

To awake in pain and in silence and not know where he was, to not know where Arthur was and feel that suffocating sense of danger, to awake in that kind of darkness was one of Merlin's deepest fears. Yet here he was. In the dark,in a silent stone room of some sort, Arthur was no where near. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Merlin's head was pounding, cold was stiffening his joints and aching in his bones. His heart sank as he began to remember what had happened. There had been a light, a blazing light and Arthur had been shouting.

They had just finished watering their horses at the edge of creek, not an hours ride outside of Brill. Gawaine, Percival, Arthur and himself had ridden out to investigate reports of bandits in the area. Gawaine had been telling one of his interminable stories when he suddenly silenced himself, alerted, and given a warning shout. Arthur had swung into his saddle and drawn his sword before Merlin even had time to turn. He didn't see Percival. He had counted five figures emerging from the forest when the light had struck, blinding him, and then last of all, Arthur shouting, screaming in incoherent rage, and then the darkness.

Trying to move his hands, Merlin realized they were bound with shackles, but his feet were free. Merlin moved almost convulsively, trying to sit up. He must have been bound to the floor because he couldn't move his hands more than a few inches in any direction. The darkness was oppressive.

Merlin tried to relax, willing his mind to look at the situation clearly, to put together whatever clues he had to figure out what happened and where he was. He pushed down the overwhelming fear of Arthur's safety, taking a deep breath. If he was going to help Arthur, he had to get control. It was hard to think when his head hurt this much. A few more breaths to relax. He was still cold, but he noticed that he was starting to feel a bit warmer. His back was warmer than his stomach, which was touching the stone floor. Even the back of his head felt warmer. He twisted his head from side to side.

The sun must be shining on him, he realized. He was in a pit or prison of some sort and the sun was shining through an opening above him, warming him, but it was dark. It was dark. The thought struck him numb with horror. It wasn't dark. The realization hit him; he was blind. Merlin let out a cry, but bit it back, shocked by the despair in his own voice.

As his heart raced, he moved his face towards the source of the warmth, the light he wasn't seeing. His fingers probed roughly at his face, feeling the amount of swelling. The pain was sickening. Merlin heaved, writhing against the chains, holding his head. He gasped; panic was eating at his resolve to stay calm. Merlin heard Gaius' voice in his mind, cautioning patients about allowing swelling around the eyes to subside after a close call with fire. Stay focused, he told himself. That must have been what happened. He tried to recall the flare of gold that had knocked him unconscious. A deep breath helped calm him. It could have been a spell he realized or perhaps a close call with a torch or a flaming arrow. Yes, he told himself. Time would take care of the swelling and his sight would come back. He choked back a sob that no one would hear. He had to keep his head.

To focus himself,Merlin began to listen intently. It was silent. No, almost silent. He could dimly hear birds calling in the trees. He was still in the forest then, and he was in a pit or a prison. There was an opening above his head, that was likely a locked grate of some kind, through which the sun was flooding at present, and he was chained to the floor. There had to be a way out. He flexed his magic, pushing against the confines of the chamber and heard a rattling above him. He wasn't sure if he had opened the grate. Merlin focused on his manacles next, but his thoughts slipped away at the critical moment. He tried again, only to meet the same result. His magic faded at the crucial juncture to open the shackles.

With fear gripping him tightly, Merlin nervously reassured himself that his magic was working. He warmed himself with a spell, and he breathed a grateful and relieved sigh. Perhaps the hand cuffs were spelled. Uther had created many such instruments during the height of the Purge and many still existed. Merlin had found them, in the guard room on occasion, mixed in with other shackles and chains. Evidently, some of them had been lost and re-used as time went by, their true use forgotten. Merlin fervently prayed that the rest of the pit was not resistant to magic. It would mean someone knew...

The thought shook him to his core. Merlin knew he could not afford to panic. Forcefully, he refused his thought on opening the manacles. He worked at the metal with his hands, pulling and shoving, squeezing his slim hands bit by bit through the ring of metal. He worked at it for a long time; he worked patiently, desperately, slowly, then frantically, and in the end he had to stop. His hands were slick with sweat or blood, he couldn't tell which and still he couldn't get them off his wrists. His head pounded unmercifully with every beat of his heart.

Merlin paused, trying to fight down the panic that was flooding through him. It was stronger now, the sense of Arthur in danger. The fear resonated through his aching body, throbbing in his chest like a war drum. Arthur's danger was now manifest. It clenched in the pit of his stomach. The warning sensation echoed in his aching head. He was helpless.

His heart roared in disbelief and frustration. He was not helpless. Blind and deaf, he might be reasoned Merlin, but that was no excuse that he could not be by Arthur's side. Reaching deep into his instinctive magic, beyond the disciplined spells that yoked the strength of his magic to the need of the action, he dove into his connection to the King. He could not see the orb of blue fire that coalesced in his chained hand. But it rose into the sunlight, following Merlin's connection to Arthur unerringly as an arrow.

Focusing all his attention on his hand fire, he could almost feel the wind in his hair. as it sped over the hills. Merlin's physical body shivered convulsively as he lay almost unconscious on the rough stone floor. No matter, the warlock told himself.

The blue fire had paused at another grate in the forest floor. Merlin could only guess that it was a twin to the one in which he was imprisoned. But this grate was flung open, the darkness gaping. His heart shuddered as he heard the crack of a whip and a familiar hiss of pain. The smell of blood was in the air, sickening Merlin. The blue hand fire was shining full in Arthur's face but before the king could draw another breath, the warlock saw his friend's eyes go shuttered, walling off the pain. Merlin knew that subtle clench of Arthur's jaw. Fierce with worry, his hand fire flared before he could truly control it. Arthur spun unexpectedly, shoving against his captor.

Merlin saw that Arthur was chained to a pole, his left hand high above his head. He dove toward it, destroying the metallic structure of the ring instinctively, thanking fate that this shackle was not spelled, and the king was free in an instant. Arthur grappled with his torturer. The hand fire blazed up again as Merlin channeled his strength into aiding the king. He held the light as long as he could. Arthur used his chain as a weapon, whirling it madly, like a mace, and Merlin saw his attacker scuttle to the corner. But Merlin was fighting himself now; his body was failing. The weakness was creeping through his hand fire now, muting it's brilliance. But even as he faded, Merlin saw Arthur climb out of the opening and shove the grate shut. He saw Arthur's lips frame his name as he looked out into the forest. He couldn't tell if it was his own head that throbbed so miserably or if it was Arthur's. Struggling to maintain his hand fire, he took comfort in this last action. Arthur was free. Not out of danger, but free. It was something.

Merlin faded into darkness and the blue orb disappeared from sight.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"And without feet I can make my way to you, Without a mouth I can still swear your name." Ranier Maria Rilke

When Merlin awoke again, it was to the rough sound of the grate above him moving, followed by a freezing splash of water in his face. Spluttering and shivering, Merlin convulsed on the stone floor as the cold pierced him. Everything was still dark, so his eyes were no better. He remembered that Arthur was free.

Rough hands pulled him to his knees. He retched as the fire in his head exploded. There were more than two voices in the room he thought, but dull with pain and exhaustion, the young warlock was sure of little.

"The blond one got away", said the man who had pulled him up, "but it don't matter." He shoved Merlin, laughing at his inability to balance himself after the unexpected blow. "The Sarrum doesn't care if his information comes from the mouth a knight or a lackey. Let's start with this one". His attention turned to Merlin again and he dragged him up close to his face, so that Merlin felt the stink of his breath as he held him viselike against any struggle. He was glad he didn't have to look at him.

"Besides," whispered his tormentor confidentially, "We are on the knight's trail even as we speak. Blood ain't hard to follow". He paused, waiting for a reaction from his prisoner. Merlin fought his fear down, even the thought of these men chasing an injured Arthur, made him desperate. The man shook him like a dog with a bone, and the agony in his head exploded. His captor threw him forcefully onto the stone floor. "What's your name, boy?"

Merlin shook his head. He had heard of the Sarrum. He was a neighboring king, well known for his pragmatic brutality and the brilliant efficiency of his soldiers. He was dangerous and capricious. If he had hired these mercenaries, it boded ill for Camelot.

"My name is Legget," said the inquisitor, as he pulled Merlin's head back by the hair. "You look like a strong wind could blow you over, boy, but sometimes the wiry ones are best. They last, you know?" He poked at Merlin's thin chest as if probing for weakness. "I'm going to get to know you real good! " The enjoyment in his voice was only too evident.

Merlin nodded almost hopelessly, but he was deeply relieved that the mercenary had not recognized the king. Perhaps this was an opening move in an assault by the Sarrum. They must be incredibly stupid, he thought to himself. How could anyone not recognize Arthur?

" I just got started on the knight, you know." Legget continued in his bizarre confidential tone. "Just getting to know him a bit when he got away. Did some trick with a light. Never heard that Camelot went in for knights with magic!" Anger radiated from the man who was now circling Merlin slowly, as he swayed on his knees. "You ever hear of a magic knight?" He guffawed roughly, and he spat on the warlock , with a thoughtless efficiency. "But you can tell me things, boy. Important things." He shoved his face closer to Merlin's. "What's your name , boy? Last time I ask nicely!" He laughed , amused by his own ironic tone.

There was a soft, sliding noise and then the warlock felt the edge of a knife held against his throat. The young warlock reacted by not moving, but in his heart Merlin was frantic. Legget's words had struck his loyal heart with the force of a cross bolt. Arthur was free, but they were following him and he was bleeding enough to leave a trail. He had seen his king fight free of his prison, but Merlin had also seen the stubborn prat fight brilliantly until he collapsed from a hidden injury on more than one occasion. He remembered the smell of blood as his blue fire had first peered into Arthur's stoic eyes. He wasn't sure how long ago that was. He swallowed and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down his neck, where Legget's knife was paused. Suddenly, the brute laughed and twirled the knife.

Not caring what would happen next, the warlock allowed himself to sag in his captor's grasp, thrusting his will free of his body, even as his eyes closed. Merlin followed his mind's eye, his connection to Arthur pulling him faster and faster through the the darkening forest. He was racing through the long shadows. He could see Arthur's trail, shining like heat haze, in the darkness of the forest as he reached the grate. Merlin moved quickly, following his mind's eye until he glimpsed Arthur himself.

He was crouching beside a slow running creek, under an overhang of roots and limbs left by a spring flood. Arthur was on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He sank back against the tree limbs and he raised a trembling hand to wipe his face. As the warlock's blue light approached him, the king ducked his head in exhaustion. His back was bloody and his shirt was in shreds. Arthur's hands were still shaking, but his eyes were cautious as he raised his head again. He noticed the hand fire, and hope immediately surged into his face.

Merlin dipped down closer to Arthur, relieved that his injuries were not worse. He judged that Arthur might still make it to Camelot on his own, if he had a horse. Adrenaline would keep him going for a bit more. Merlin paused directly in front of the king, and then shot up high above the trees. Just as the servant had hoped, his own horse had not strayed far and was half heartedly munching on a patch of grass further down the creek. Merlin blessed his mount's loyal heart. The creature was so used to Merlin's interior voice, that it stamped and whinnied as he saw the hand fire approach, but none the less, seemed to recognize his master. Returning to Arthur with the speed of thought, Merlin hovered above the king, urging him to follow with small beckoning movements.

"You're back," said Arthur softly, almost curiously. It unnerved Merlin how easily Arthur had accepted the blue hand fire as a guide. They were almost to the bend in the creek where his horse was waiting, when Merlin felt a sudden shift in his magic. He lost control of the hand fire, slamming back into his body with a sickening lurch that robbed him of coherent thought. There was a shocking pain in his side; it seized him ruthlessly. He couldn't breathe.

"Fainted dead away, when he saw the knife," laughed a voice directly above him. "Took a good kick to get him to pay attention again." Someone else laughed as it was the most clever of jests.

Merlin tried to take a breath but the thunderous, shocking pain shook him again. Broken ribs. Merlin focused himself on Arthur. The king would make it back to Camelot. He knew it. He prayed it. He had to believe it.

"Tell me about Camelot, boy, " whispered Legget in his ear. "Tell me about the comings and goings; the number of guards on the gates. How many knights? Servant's entrances. Hidey holes. Seige tunnels. The usual servant gossip. I like a good story."

Merlin was afraid. He was afraid in a way he seldom was. He was broken and blind and help would be long in coming, if it came at all. The Sarrum was likely planning an attack, but Arthur was free. He told himself that the king had found his horse and was surely on his way back to Camelot. Merlin felt the sting of tears in sudden relief with that thought alone. But he knew he would never be able to stop his tears if they started, so he swallowed them down. Now, was not the time.

He could hear Legget rooting through objects, that rang with an evil metallic sound. He knew it was imperative to let Arthur know the Sarrum was behind this abduction, but just now that was impossible. Sweat poured down his back, and he twitched his shoulder blades. His stomach cramped in fear, and his breath caught as Legget's heavy foot steps approached. He focused his thoughts on Arthur. He thought about his senseless stubborn moods, his helpless arrogance about dressing himself, and the grace of his sword. He remembered Arthur's keen eyes wrapped in his thoughtful quiet. He thought about Arthur chucking objects at his head. Merlin knew if he kept Arthur clearly in his mind; if he could hear Arthur's sarcastic, loving voice in his mind, he could face what his torturer was planning.

He would say nothing. He might scream; he might beg; but he would reveal nothing. Arthur would be with him. He would serve Arthur until the day he died. He just hoped the last part of his promise wouldn't take too long.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you, with my heart, as with a hand." Ranier Maria Rilke

Merlin tried not to wake up. He tried not to breathe, hoping against hope that no one would notice he was awake again. Not for the first time, he wished this agony was over. His arms were chained above his head now and he sagged against the cold stone of the wall. His head still ached relentlessly and his back was a column of agony. Every breath was an effort and he was exhausted. Legget's dagger had left trails of blood over his shoulders and down his torso. He shuddered as he remembered Legget's blade finding his broken ribs. Legget liked to take his time; he liked to follow his own sadistic rules; he liked the agony to go on slowly, slowly. Merlin could feel the neurasthenic trembling of fear that shook him, even now.

Trying to get through the minutes, Merlin wondered what had happened when Arthur had reached Camelot. In his imagination, Arthur had ridden into the courtyard, holding on to Merlin's horse for dear life, causing a commotion of servants and knights to explode into action. There would be exclamations, shouts of joy and relief, and then the questions. Arthur would be taken to Gaius, and then...

Merlin shook his head in helpless pain. Gaius would ask Arthur where he was and Arthur would... Arthur would... He could no longer go on. Merlin could see Gaius' calm old face, his eyebrow flaring in concern and worry. With a child's fierce unrealistic insistence he wanted to see Gaius again. Then he could ask forgiveness for the worries he had thrust on his dear mentor, the only real father he had ever had. He would beg pardon for the lies that he forced an old man to utter, for the danger he had brought into Gaius' already uncertain position in life. He feared he would never see the physician again and Merlin knew, with a horrible certainty, that his loss would break the valiant, old man's heart at last.

Even if they dispatched a rescue party for him, even if Arthur could remember the way, it would be hours before they would arrive. Merlin knew that Legget would return before that could happen.

Merlin hung his head, not knowing which pain brought him closer to despair. Physical doom was on him, but all he could think of was the dream that would end if he died. The dream fueled his courage, his dream of a world where magic was a living presence in Camelot. It would never come to be. His foolish dream where Arthur knew of his magic and still was his friend. This is how dreams ended he thought miserably, with a whisper of hope, unheard. With his heart breaking, his thoughts turned to Arthur again. He was beyond Merlin's protection now. But he was safe. Surely he had gotten away.

Merlin knew his strength was failing. If his body paid a price for the abuse he gave it, it hardly mattered now. He needed to see Arthur. He did not fear death,not in the way of most men, and in spite of prophecies and fate and destiny, Merlin was possessed only by this most simple, mortal need of his heart. He had to make sure Arthur had reached Camelot. And if it happened that he could have one more look into the eyes of his king, surely he could take that memory with him into the dark.

Without another breath, Merlin slipped away into the world of magic , into the world of his hand fire. The land moved away beneath him with the speed of his desperation, following his bond with Arthur. To his shock and horror, Arthur was not in Camelot. Not even close. He was hardly a mile away. As he hovered, paralyzed with frustrated anger and fear, he saw Arthur was leading his horse. It whickered to Merlin in greeting and Arthur alerted. As he watched, the king tied the horse quietly to a tree and unsheathed a sword, that the warlock had never seen before. A familiar twitch of recognition lit his liege's face as he glimpsed the blue orb shimmering near the bushes. The king approached the light slowly, taking a careful breath.

"I'm looking for Merlin," he said softly, but in desperate tones. "Can you help me?"

The warlock froze in shock. He felt flushed with anger. Arthur should have ridden to safety, but instead he was looking for him. He was frightened by Arthur's audacity. He was horrified that Arthur had put himself in danger and he was moved beyond words, that Arthur was looking for him.

But before the warlock could respond, he heard the grate above him in the physical world, as it was pulled open. The dull thud of it's opening sank into his heart with the force of a blow.

Merlin did not know what to do. Agonized, the boy had no time to consider motivation or consequence. He only knew he could not leave Arthur, and if he did, there would not be another hope of rescue. His instinctive connection to Arthur cried out before he even knew what he was doing. In his heart he still wanted to believe that he would live to tell this tale. But he also knew, deep in his heart that once Legget began with him, he would have no strength left to go on.

Knowing no spell, without any real hope, he readied his magic instinctively, reaching into the stones below him, into the air for the power of the wind, into the tears that flooded his eyes, into the fire of devotion that drove this last impulsive action. He hoped some part of him would remain, and if it did not, he would let this be his goodbye to the king he had served. He hoped Arthur would understand.

Caught for a moment in the shadow land of magic and his own tortured body, he thrust his hand fire into Arthur's chest and then exited again. Merlin was sure and strong in his movement, as sure as Arthur with a lance. They were bound ever more tightly . And then with one last look back at his King's shocked face, he let the blue orb fade from sight. Arthur stumbled.

Merlin spiraled into the pain and exhaustion of his body. To his shock, he saw a flare of light as Legget and his henchmen descended noisily into the prison. He could see no shapes, but the presence of the light filled his eyes. His heart seized on that positive with a strength that shocked him.

Legget snapped his whip and Merlin turned towards the sound, praying he looked stronger than he felt.

Roughly, hands unchained his manacles and his ams broke into tingling fire as blood rushed back into them and stiffened muscles were forcibly moved. They dragged him to a pole, and realizing what was coming, Merlin shoved back against his captors with all his remaining strength. His brief rebellion only made them laugh.

They chained his hands up high, so he would be forced to stand. Merlin tried to steel himself but he already knew Legget's style. The first blow took him near his broken ribs, the weighted spike of the leather lash snaking around to hit the front of his chest. For a timeless second, he hung in shock, and then pain exploded him into fragments, into splintered bone and blood, until the darkness. Once again, the darkness.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat. And if you consume my brain with fire, I'll feel you burn..." Ranier Maria Rilke

Alone in the dark, Merlin wondered if he was dead. But it hardly mattered. His mind was aflame with fear and a desperate hope. He flailed a bit, but quickly found the burning thread that linked him to Arthur. It was faint but clear, shining blue, a living vein of power. Following it's path, the darkness around him faded into the long shadows of the forest; the very earth was fragrant with magic. It caught him up, propelling him forward. Faster. Then, even faster. He was running.

Arthur. He was seeing through Arthur's eyes and he was running. The air burned in his lungs as he ran like a madman, driven by adrenaline and crazed hope, he ran. The grate in the forest floor came into sight. The ladder Legget and his helpers had used was protruding from the dark gash of the opening. In one fluid movement, Arthur lifted it up and over his head with both hands, as he flung it away with a channeled surge of anger. As cries of shock arose from the pit, Arthur leapt into the opening. Radiating fury, economical in his movement, Arthur rounded upon his former captors, his sword ringing in the darkness of the prison. The king did not pause in his circle of destruction when another knight flung himself into the fray from above, knocking Legget's henchman down. Together they fought and they made it short work. The air was thick with the smell of blood, as Arthur gutted his enemies. Legget went down last, his face frozen in fear as Arthur advanced on him. Rage made the king implacable, but even as Legget fell, still begging for his life, Merlin felt, rather than saw, the deep seated fear in Arthur's heart as he started to search for his servant in the carnage.

Merlin knew he was still chained to the pole. Even knowing that, he still gasped with shock along with Arthur as he caught his first look at his own bloodied body hanging brokenly, his dark head bowed.

Merlin felt the echo of the pain only dimly as they cut him down; he barely felt the oppressive magic of the spelled handcuffs break with the force of an axe blow. He collapsed limply into someone's waiting arms. It was Arthur's familiar strength that surrounded him. The relief was exquisitely painful. He wanted to call out to Arthur, to hear his voice, but his will no longer commanded his body.

It was odd to look down at himself, he thought. He was shocked to see how bad he looked. He tried to move, to groan, to do anything that would let Arthur know that he still lived, but his body no longer responded to his thoughts. Merlin could no longer find the strength to breathe and his body seized in a bid for air. His brain was burning.

He was covered in blood and sweat and his own filth. Looking through Arthur's perception, his eyes were hideously swollen and his body was limp and utterly slack as his shuddering faded into stillness. His chest was covered in bruises and long thin rivers of dried blood that made a shocking dark contrast to his pale skin.

Arthur was shaking him and voices were calling his name. Gawaine was shouting somewhere. Suddenly he felt Arthur lift him up close, holding him fiercely, bringing his head to his chest to listen for a heartbeat, but Merlin could only hear the king's ragged sobs. It broke Merlin's heart. Something was seeping through their connection. Arthur buried his face in Merlin's neck as he gripped him tighter. The warlock let go of the thread that had bound them, the bond that had brought him back together for the wild gamble of this moment. The blue fire flooded through both of them.

Arthur was burning and so was Merlin. He was flaring and guttering like a candle. The magic of Camelot sluiced back into him, flowing into nothingness, putting out the fire that consumed him. The blue thread, the living conduit of power that bound them together dissolved in the onslaught. Merlin felt the snap as the connection between he and Arthur broke, and he was flung into his body again. He heard a piercing cry of loss and disbelief. It was a cry of abandonment and slaughtered dreams. It paralyzed his heart. And with that last sound in his ears, Merlin faded into oblivion. Not all was lost as long as Arthur lived, he told himself. His king, his dearest friend, was safe. So against all hope, in the face of despair, despite everything that had happened, Merlin was at peace.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"In every drop of my blood." Ranier Maria Rilke

To awake in pain and in silence and not know where he was, to awake and feel Arthur's familiar presence at his side, to awake in that kind of darkness was to know that the essentials of his life were safe. He could deal with the rest. Merlin shifted experimentally and instantly regretted it. He choked back a sob as pain tore through him.

"Merlin." It was Arthur's voice, soft and so close to his ear it startled him. "Merlin," he said again and despite his soft tone, there was a note of pleading in it. He felt someone remove something from his eyes and he winced at the light. His heart jumped. The light. It was shining on a haze of gold. There was no mistaking that it was Arthur. Merlin swallowed gratefully. He still could no see details but it was more than he had seen in a long time. The slight return of his vision buoyed him despite the pain. He tried to smile , but he feared it was no more than grimace, as he heard only soft ,deep murmurs of voices around him. A cool cloth covered his eyes again and his headache retreated just a bit.

It ached to breathe, ached so much he wanted to stop. Someone was moving him, gently moving him upward where it was easier to catch his breath. He was being propped carefully on his uninjured side, braced against someone who held him gently in place, so that he could breathe but avoiding pressure on his back and on the worst of his wounds. The pain of being moved left him panting and confused. Water was dribbled into his mouth and he swallowed greedily, choking and gasping in pain. A little more water flowed past his lips and he relaxed into the comfort, swallowing more carefully. Slowly, he realized through the haze of agony and relief, that It was Arthur's hand that cradled his head.

"Easy, Merlin," whispered the king into his manservant's ear. "Gaius is on his way." To Merlin's ear that sounded incredible. But then so was being alive. Arthur had found him! He tried to say Arthur's name but he only wheezed with the effort. He coughed, ending in a gasp of pain. The arms that held him tightened gently as if to protect him and that was enough to let him know that he could relax. He drifted for a long moment, lulled into a fragile comfort, only half conscious. It didn't hurt so much that way, he thought to himself. Then another thought came snaking out of the darkness.

The Sarrum. He choked out the name almost convulsively, and it set him to coughing. The pain was blinding, but he could not stop the reflexive wrenching cough that was tearing him apart. A strong hand held his broken side as he strained for air. As the coughing faded at last, his thoughts cleared again. Arthur was calling him.

"Merlin!" The voice pulled the servant back into consciousness. "Merlin! Stay with me, Merlin," commanded the king in a tone his servant knew all to well. He managed to nod in response.

"Better do as he says", came a rumbling voice that surprised Merlin. It was Gawaine. He tried to reach out, shocked, and found his hand gripped tightly almost immediately. "Stay with us, Merlin. When we found you, Princess here, got so worked up, we couldn't tell if you were alive or dead, for at least five minutes."

"Enough, Gawaine," retorted Arthur. There was something in his clipped tone that moved Merlin more than any declaration of concern could have. Gawaine's touch was warm, comforting, vital.

Merlin tried again. He needed to tell Arthur. "The Sarrum," he choked out, after a few moments. "It was the Sarrum. He wanted to know about Camelot. Siege information, Arthur." he managed to get it all out, taking his time between words. The king was silent, but the servant knew the king took his measure of the situation in that moment. Merlin felt the hardening in his heart. He heard Arthur murmur something to Gawaine and heard a firm response from the knight. The warlock took an audible gasp,"I didn't tell them..." He tried to say more, but Arthur silenced him with an uncharacteristic gentle reply.

"No need, Merlin. Please ... it's alright," he said quietly. "Don't say anything more." The king took a shaking breath.

The struggling boy still tried to force his words out. "I didn't tell him my name."

"I can see that Merlin," began Arthur, but he paused, pain overcoming his voice, "I can see every single thing you didn't tell them. " Although his voice was calm, there was an almost thunderous tension in his tone. The silence was loud between them. He could hear Gawaine cursing below his breath. Merlin gasped again, still trying to explain.

"Not now, Merlin. Later. Don't try to talk. Please, just this once." pleaded Arthur's voice softly, almost brokenly. "We can speak of these things later. Just..." He wished he could see Arthur's face , but he could hear the raw emotion in his voice. It had echoed in Gawaine's as well. He wondered vaguely if he were dying. He couldn't bear to hear that note of agony in their voices. It was wrong, so wrong.

There was a sudden commotion of horses, the stamping of hooves and voices calling out. He thought he heard Leon's voice. Camp noises exploded above them.

"Go," said Arthur. "Quickly, Gawaine!" There was an edge in Arthur's voice that struck Merlin cold. Arthur shifted carefully and he hissed ,as if shocked. He murmured something to his friend, but Merlin was not fooled. Arthur was in pain as much as he was. He remembered Arthur's back, his shuttered eyes. But before he could begin to say anything, his friend interrupted.

"I'm better off than you, ok?"

Merlin eased, grimacing because he didn't want to laugh. Arthur had caught his thought so easily he might have been a druid. That pleased him inordinately.

"What happened," he whispered, but he no longer had to fight so hard for air, and he relaxed a bit. "How did you find me?"

" I'll never know how I found you," Arthur said after a long moment. " It was a strange thing, like some crazy story you would make up, Merlin." It was soon clear that Arthur spoke to steady himself, as much as to calm his friend. "I saw a blue light, like a ball of lightning. Exactly like the one I saw years ago, when you were poisoned. It know it was the same! I saw it three times, Merlin. Each time, it helped me to get away, helped me find your horse. The last time the light came, I didn't know what else to do. I asked the light to help me find you. I know, I know, it was crazy. You're not going to believe this, Merlin."

The warlock nodded against Arthur's chest and he could feel Arthur's keen eyes on him. If it had been disconcerting to look through Arthur's eyes, it was even odder to hear Arthur tell the story of what he had done, back to him.

The king's voice sunk low. He was whispering hoarsely now. "The light hit me in the chest, and then I knew. I knew you were alive, Merlin. I don't know how, but I knew where you were and knew there wasn't much time to get to you. Gawaine and I had found each other and Percival caught up shortly after. I sent him on to Camelot to bring Gaius. I knew they were killing you." His voice sank and caught in his throat. "I hope never..." he paused again, " never... to feel that way again Merlin. I started running, and something was pulling me. Gawaine..."

The knights voice came from above as if on cue.

"He's almost here Arthur. That was Leon. Gaius is only a few minutes behind on the wagon"

Arthur's relief was so palpable that Merlin shook with it as well. The kings touch lightened with the hope of rescue. It gave Merlin strength. He was buoyed by the depth of feeling revealed by Arthur's voice alone. His awareness was narrowing, his head was spinning but his heart was open.

"I know how you found me," offered Merlin. His voice sounded strange and hoarse, even to himself, and far softer and weaker than he would have wished, but he was able to speak.

He heard Arthur inhale in relief, so glad he was to hear his servant's voice.

"I was alone," he murmured,"but you were with me, Arthur." He moved his hand hoping to find his friend, but he only found his shirt. To his surprise,he felt the kings fingers softly twine with his. "You were with me the whole time," said Merlin, "in every drop of my blood." The king could not reply, his heart was too full; for there are feelings beyond tears, and there are some moments that words should not define.

"Merlin," retorted the king at last, with some of his old energy, aiming for light and failing miserably. " Merlin," he said again, but this time his voice was thick with strained emotion. Merlin felt Arthur's hold on him tighten carefully, for the king was cradling him as if his heart was breaking. "That doesn't make sense, dollophead", he whispered fiercely.

"Doesn't have to make sense." The dark haired servant smiled weakly..

"Don't be an idiot," said the king.

Waves of relief flooded the two friends, as they held each other in that dark, bloody place. Merlin would not leave Arthur's side. They were together once again. And if they could not truly understand the mystery of what had brought them together out of the blue light, whether it was magic or loyalty, it did not really matter. They were together and they both knew all would be well.


	7. Epilogue

Chapter 6

Epilogue

A/N Please accept my most sincere thanks to all of you who have read, followed and favorited my story. Special thanks to all of you who made my day by reviewing! I feel thrilled and inspired to keep improving my writing.

This last bit of epilogue did not really fit into the framework of the poem, but it closed the story well. I hope you will enjoy!

Gawaine shoved a log into the fire with the ease of long experience. He poked at the fire, banking the embers and ensuring a few more hours of steady warmth. Usually Merlin did this, he realized. The boy had a knack for it, that was for sure. No, he didn't really want to think about that right now, he told himself.

Those thoughts led him to the still figure of his friend, who now lay propped up of blankets, lightly dosed with a pain drought. It had taken a long anxious time for Gaius to tend to Merlin's wounds, and to ease his breathing. When at last, the old physician could spare a moment to explain Merlin's condition, he had told Arthur and Gawaine, that relieving Merlin's pain was a delicate decision. A strong dose of opiate would have relieved Merlin's agony, but would have depressed his breathing. The old man had said Merlin was so fragile, he might not be able to keep breathing on his own. But the pain could kill him just as easily. Gawaine did not want to remember the dark shadow that arose in the old man's eyes as he spoke with them. Nor did he want to remember the same shadow dim Arthur's hopeful , it was a light dose only and Merlin suffered.

Gawaine hated that it all made perfect sense to him, because Merlin was moaning, periodically. It was his soft unconscious attempt to bite back the sound with a faint gasp, that was eating away at Gawaine's heart. It was better than the alternative , he thought. When he couldn't hear Merlin's faint moans, he panicked every time. Either way it was going to be a long night. Even Gaius had finally nodded off in exhaustion.

Arthur lay not far away from his manservant, also well propped on blankets and more deeply asleep than Merlin. He looked pale and drawn, his blond hair completely tangled and filthy. His injuries were less. With rest and Gaius' care, he would be well soon. At least that is what the physician had promised. But Merlin.

Gawaine had to look away. Merlin. He let the tears fill his eyes; no one was near to watch. To a seasoned warrior , the sleep of recovery looked different than the slow decline into death. Merlin hovered on the edge and he didn't need Gaius to tell him. He knew.

He sidled over to where Merlin lay. He gently touseled the servants dark hair, thinking how his friend would send him an irate glare if he had been aware. He took Merlin's hand just as he had earlier. His heart compelled him to sit silently, sending his own vital strength into his friend. He would have faced a dozen crazed immortal swordsmen than have Merlin suffer the torture that had brought him to this state. His strength might bring Merlin through the night. He had to believe it.

Merlin stirred suddenly, calling out Arthur's name, but he was so weak, Gawaine would not have seen or heard a thing if he had not been right next to him. His breath escaped in little puffs of pain. He was becoming more agitated now, turning his head from side to side.

Gawaine slid his arm, under Merlin carefully, lifting his head slightly to pour a bit of water in his mouth, hoping it might relieve him a bit. But it didn't work. Gawaine lowered him carefully back to his blankets, as his friend continued to writhe and move, as if his pain was unbearable or as if he was trapped in a nightmare. Maybe both.. He was breathing too hard.

"Shh, Merlin. It's ok. You're safe now," he soothed, hoping his friend might register the message through the veil of his unconsciousness. "I'm here with you mate," he whispered. But he knew what Merlin really needed to hear. He bent low to his ear.

"Arthur's safe, Merlin. You did it. You brought him home." It was like a miracle to Gawaine's eyes and this time he did not feel ashamed of his tears. An expression of peace spread slowly over Merlin's face, he even smiled faintly. His breathing eased. Gently, the knight wiped traces of blood from Merlin's face with a cool cloth. Gawaine's heart was breaking.

He could not forget what he had seen. As hard as he tried, he would never be able to forget what he had seen. He closed his eyes in pain. As Merlin layhopelessly in Arthur's embrace, his body trembling as he died, Arthur had been agonized, distraught and unhinged with despair. Arthur's cry of grief would fade only slowly from the knight's memory. The king had not seen or understood anything but his grief in that terrible moment.

So only Gawaine had seen the blue fire that had flared from between the servant and the king. The light had been brilliant but soft. Alive with power, it sang with magic. It had connected both Arthur and Merlin, bringing Merlin back from the edge of death. The radiance of that moment, played out again in his mind. The wonder. The shocking knowledge. The tragedy. The secret.

Gawaine understood the secret. He had seen powerful magic before. Magic swirled around Camelot, like a dragon shadow of irony, mocking the Pendragons at every turn. And Merlin had powerful magic. He understood many things. And Gawaine was equally sure, that as time passed, as he had the chance to stare into many fires, with many flagons of ale, he would understand many more of the curious happenings around Camelot.

But then, he thought, could he bear to know the truth? The burden Merlin carried was so large that it staggered Gawaine's imagination.

It was best to act now he decided. Best to act, while his heart was sure and the details of daily life hadn't yet gotten in the way of what was right. That was the way of inspiration. Gawaine saw only one path open to him.

He took out his sword and laid the sweat stained leather pommel into Merlin's outstretched hand. Strangely enough, it looked like it belonged there. He covered his friend's limp hand with his own, with the sword between them. It warmed to their embrace.

" I swear to be your man, Merlin, in life and beyond life if I can. None will know your secret. I will protect and defend you as if you were my liege, whether you want me to or not. Your life will come before mine. I ask no reward but to serve you. So do I swear before all powers."

The stars and his sword were witness and the knight was satisfied. Merlin need never know, but Gawaine's promise burned faithfully. It sang in every drop of his blood.


End file.
